


Confession of a King

by physics_magic



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, I only realized once I finished writing it, Inspired by Music, M/M, POV Alternating, Sorry Not Sorry, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/physics_magic/pseuds/physics_magic
Summary: Hotch couldn’t tear his eyes from Spencer’s lips, caressing each syllable with a care that spoke of fondness, soft and pink and the only thing suddenly occupying his full attention.“I didn’t know you were an indie fan,” Hotch said.Those distracting lips curved into a small smile.“I didn’t know you could drive without an eye on the road,” Spencer countered.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	1. Indie

**Author's Note:**

> Ending the year and starting the next off right: with fluff.

They were driving down a stretch of deserted highway, air conditioner on full blast to combat the mid-summer heat death, dust devils twirling lazily in the far distance as the sun beat down unfettered UV light when Hotch first heard it.

Nevada in late July was distracting enough with the desert air trying to suck the very marrow from its inhabitants bones, let alone during a particularly gruesome murder investigation where law enforcement was competing against not only the searing elements but the local wildlife scavenging for scraps, picking innards clean in the time it took to blink.

Suffice to say, Hotch had a lot on his mind at the moment. 

All of that took a backseat when he tuned in long enough to realize the radio was no longer playing the local news he vaguely remembered flipping to at the beginning of the drive, keeping an ear out for any rogue press that had escaped JJ’s purview.

Instead, Spencer was humming along to the radio.

The chorus kicked in with a crescendo of drums, “When I offer you survival, you say it’s hard enough to live,” Spencer sang softly, eyes closed, head bobbing just slightly to the percussion beat, “don’t tell me that it’s over, stand up! Poor and tired but more than this...”

Hotch couldn’t tear his eyes from Spencer’s lips, caressing each syllable with a care that spoke of fondness, soft and pink and the only thing suddenly occupying his full attention.

“I didn’t know you were an indie fan,” Hotch said.

Those distracting lips curved into a small smile.

“I didn’t know you could drive without an eye on the road,” Spencer countered.

“Unit Chief superpower,” Hotch deadpanned, quickly double-checking the road to make sure they were not, in fact, about to face their untimely demise because Spencer licking his bitten-red lips wreaked far too much havoc on Hotch’s control.

There was nothing. Flat sand beds interspersed with miniature golden dunes and the occasional solitary cactus as far as the eye could see, as there had been for the last several stretches of two lane highway, dark purple mountains loomed far in the distance. 

Spencer hummed contemplatively. “And here I thought it was a fatherly superpower. Or elite tactical SWAT training.” He peaked an eye open to see Hotch wearing a matching miniscule smile.

“Either are certainly good options for learning how to multitask on the fly.” Hotch met Spencer’s half-lidded stare, one dark eyebrow raised. “So, indie?”

“This album is technically classified as alternative rock, post-punk revival, and heartland rock with elements of new wave, though the latter originated in the late 1970s and peaked in the 1980s, giving rise to the 1990s grunge and alternative rock trends that have become quite popular in this day and age. New wave has been making a revival in the alternative scene for the past few years too, crossing into pop music and further incorporating the use of synthesizers. In a way, new wave is making a comeback with alternative rock and pop as its vehicle. Plus, it would be remiss of me if I didn’t listen to my own statesman’s music.”

The other eyebrow joined its twin.

Spencer huffed. “Yes, I listen to indie rock, otherwise known as alternative rock in the more common mainstream verbiage. The terms are used fairly interchangeably.” He contorted under the seat belt to face Hotch. “Is that really so surprising?”

“Vegas Boy,” Hotch shook his head fondly. “The fact that you listen to anything other than audio books or Beethoven? To Morgan, most likely yes.”

“I actually prefer Bach.” Spencer saw Hotch’s lips twitch. “And to you?”

Hotch took his eyes off the barren landscape long enough to smirk, umber eyes twinkling. “I think you are full of surprises, Dr. Reid, but I wouldn’t consider listening to alternative rock to be out of your realm of possibility. I don’t think anything is.”

Spencer stared wonderingly at Hotch’s profile as the older man refocused on finding the stone carin that marked the turn off needed to reach the original crime scene. 

Hotch shifted hands so he was steering only with his left, blatantly telegraphing his intent as he slowly reached out with his right to rest a palm on Spencer’s knee. He smiled when Spencer scooted closer in response.

“I will say, I find myself pleasantly surprised that you carry such a lovely tenor. Is singing one of those mystery hobbies?”

Spencer ducked his head and focused on the weight of Hotch’s hand on his kneecap: strong, sure, and distinctly calloused even through the linen of his trousers. He fervently hoped the heat in his cheeks was just from the sun’s rays. And certainly not visible.

He silently cursed his translucently pale skin.

“How do you know that you’re right,” the radio singer crooned into the prolonged, charged silence, “if you’re not nervous anymore?”

“Now that would be giving away all the answers.” Spencer swallowed nervously. “I suppose you will just have to stick around to find out,” he said softly.

Hotch squeezed his knee in reply, silently reassuring.

Spencer smiled wider than he could remember in recent memory, intellectually understanding it was impossible to hold the sun in his chest but feeling its vibrant glow all the same.

Or maybe that was the concentrated afternoon glare.

The SUV suddenly lurched left and Spencer scrambled to reach the safety handle to save himself from choking on the seat belt. 

They weren’t far now.

“Sorry,” Hotch apologized, both hands back on the wheel to navigate the gravel terrain. Spencer instantly missed its warmth.

He mentally shook himself. They were not off-roading for the joy of it; they were in the middle of a case, on the way to investigate the first dumpsite of a serial killer that was still on the loose. Now was not the time to be daydreaming about half-thought possibilities, however tantalizing.

Those could be saved for the flight home.

As Hotch pulled even with the local police cruisers, Spencer carefully locked all of those wandering feelings up tight and immersed himself in cool, calculated logic.

Time to go to work.

If Hotch’s hand brushed his as they trudged side by side through sand towards the scene, well, that was between them and the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot all the references and win an astral high-five.


	2. Pop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But _these_ lyrics help you focus on doing paperwork?” Morgan stressed.
> 
> A faint blush began to crawl up Spencer’s ears. “Ah, I don’t exactly parse the words while working—I am aware of the lyrics in that I could recite along with the singer if I concentrated but,” he shrugged slightly uncomfortably, “otherwise it becomes white noise.”
> 
> Morgan slowly shook his head, a disbelieving smile chasing away the shocked confusion. “You’ve got some hidden depths, Pretty Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally planned to be a 5+1 and then it grew into a monster, so. Individual chapters it is. And after this past week, I think we could all use some fluff with a healthy seasoning of crack.

Spencer let out a controlled breath trying to ignore the hive of post-lunch activity that was the BAU bullpen, buzzing overhead lights mixing with lively office chatter to exacerbate the pulsing pain centered precisely in his left eye socket. Squinting at his glaringly bright monitor probably wasn’t helping, but contacts were irritating today, glasses even more so, and the printers on their floor were all mysteriously broken, to Garcia’s smug delight.

And the cherry on top—his extra large novelty coffee mug was empty.

Why was it always Tuesdays?

Emily’s laughter cut sharply across the din and Spencer tensed. His eye was positively throbbing and oh god, did he have any Rizatriptan? Excedrin? Hotch definitely had some squirreled away in his office... which was on the other side of the floor and up a set of stairs. Navigating stairs of any kind, even a small set, was a no go. There had to be something _somewhere_ in this godforsaken workplace but getting up to search sounded monumentally worse compared to letting the migraine bloom unfettered or clawing his way to the coffee pot. Which was probably empty since Morgan was the last one to leave the break room. 

Dammit.

Maybe if he didn’t move, everything would _stop_ and he could breathe for five seconds without his head trying to implode— 

“Reid?” A surprisingly non-invasive baritone asked.

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, unaware of when they had slipped closed. A dark suited blob was standing over his desk.

“You’ve been hunched in your chair for a good few minutes, I thought this might help.” Blinking, the navy outline resolved itself into Hotch’s striking figure, concern marring his brow. He set down a small bottle of extra strength aspirin and an oversized to-go cup of something steaming. “It’s not as fast acting as your prescription but caffeine might do the trick.”

Spencer zeroed in on the cup and completely ignored the burning temperature to guzzle a mouthful.

Hotch chuckled. “That needed, huh?”

 _I love you_ , Spencer thought, immediately grateful his mouth was too full of coffee to blurt out such an inappropriate confession in the middle of his workplace to his boss.

Instead, he nodded.

“I would offer you my couch to nap the migraine off but, I have a meeting in ten minutes,” Hotch sounded genuinely apologetic. “If you aren’t over the worst of it in half an hour, come on up. Paperwork is the extent of my schedule for the rest of the day.”

Kissing his superior in full view of their coworkers was an even less appropriate response, yet far more tempting.

Spencer moved the paper cup enough to say, “I appreciate the offer, Hotch. And the coffee. Definitely the coffee.”

“Not the ibuprofen?”

“That too.” Spencer shook two pills out of the bottle and took them with another swig of the caffeinated nectar. “Though like you said, coffee will be the faster acting of the two when dissolving in the bloodstream; even though the pills also contain caffeine, it’s diluted by the mixture of other chemicals in acetaminophen and aspirin which, while containing anti-inflammatory agents, can take up to an hour to reach full effectiveness.”

Hotch was outright _smiling_. 

Hotch hardly ever smiled within the walls of the FBI and when he did it was usually fleeting, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it occurrence, most often a result of Garcia’s antics or just Garcia herself. Spencer could empathize; it was nigh impossible to not smile when the full benevolent, blinding force of Penelope Garcia was aimed at you.

Still. Spencer was not Garcia, not by a long shot.

Spencer blushed fire truck red. Hotch’s smile edged into a grin and Spencer internally despaired. “Anyway... thanks.” He awkwardly saluted with the half empty cup.

Hotch shook his head in amusement and pivoted in the direction of his office. “Glad you’re feeling better, Reid.” He paused a few steps away and peered over his shoulder, expression intent. “I’m serious about the couch offer. Please come up if the busy environment proves too taxing.”

Spencer held his earnest gaze and felt warmth bloom in his chest. “I know. You don’t make offers that aren’t genuine.”

Hotch stared for another moment, nodded, then continued on his path, but not before Spencer caught the edge of another smile as he turned away.

Spencer hid a smile of his own behind another sip of moderately scalding coffee.

Glancing at his screen proved to be less of an impending retina explosion and more like a thousand tiny needles slowly digging their way in deeper every time he blinked, which, considering that he wasn’t hunkered over the nearest toilet in total darkness with a dead bolted door, was a marked improvement.

Spencer reluctantly set down his almost empty coffee and tugged open his bottom desk drawer. Rummaging through the sheaves of spare paper, rubber band balls, and extra socks, he unearthed a bundle wrapped in a soft neon blue scarf. Carefully unwrapping the pair of noise cancelling headphones, he slipped them over his ears with a relieved sigh, eyes sliding closed. All outside noise immediately cut out. Spencer savored the blissful silence, shoring up his crumbling mental walls and focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. When he felt calmer, he slowly opened his eyes, observing the silent picture the BAU had become. After a few moments he reached down for the connecting cord and plugged his headphones into his MP3 player, hitting shuffle.

It was time to get down to business. 

Gradually, the migraine subsided, and Spencer diligently worked uninterrupted for the next few hours, lost to the world of melodies and case files. 

He missed Hotch checking up on him from the balcony half an hour in, a soft smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the railing, observing the genius in his element. The older man watched for several moments before returning to his own monstrous stack of reports.

It wasn’t until Morgan waved a hand two inches from Spencer’s face that he registered anything outside of his desk bubble. 

Jerking violently, russet curls flying, he snatched his headphones off. “Don’t startle me like that!”

“Whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean to, I promise.” Morgan placated, taking a step back to sit on the edge of Spencer’s desk. “Just wanted to let you know it’s closing time.”

Spencer frowned. “The FBI offices never close and we’re on rotation this week.”

Morgan chuckled. “Let me rephrase: it’s after six o’clock and we haven’t caught a case. So, quitting time.”

“Unless we get called in later—”

“Please don’t rain on my hopes of a full night’s sleep in my own bed, a man’s got to dream.”

“Based on our case rate that’s statistically unlikely.”

“ _Please_.”

Spencer smirked. “Fine, but when reality inevitably disappoints, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’. And you owe me a coffee.”

“For predicting statistics? Is this a bet now?” Morgan cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward in interest.

Spencer shrugged innocently, reclining in his plush rolling chair.

Morgan narrowed his eyes consideringly. “Three days in a row without catching a case, and you owe me the most expensive coffee that new café off base has to offer, plus a pastry.”

“Deal.” Spencer grinned shark like. “I look forward to trying their brew.”

Morgan opened his mouth to respond but paused, head tilting slightly as he listened. Spencer realized that same moment his music had been blasting into the empty office the entire time they had been talking. He glanced down.

The connector cord dangled limply over his khaki clad thigh, MP3 player continuing to blare music unfettered.

“— _talk your shit, bite your lip, ask for a car while you ride that_ —”

Morgan stared, face slack. “Is that—but the beat is wrong? What...”

“Is that Britney Spears I hear?” JJ called from the bullpen entrance, headed toward the two profilers. She frowned upon reaching them. “Huh, I could have sworn it was Britney from the beat.”

Spencer blinked at them. “It’s a remixed version. I find the beat helpful for focusing. Acoustic and classical music, while pleasant, are too relaxing when I’m actively trying to concentrate on tasks, so I save those for meditating or whenever I’m in the mood to not think.”

“But _these_ lyrics help you focus on doing paperwork?” Morgan stressed.

A faint blush began to crawl up Spencer’s ears. “Ah, I don’t exactly parse the words while working—I am aware of the lyrics in that I could recite along with the singer if I concentrated but,” he shrugged slightly uncomfortably, “otherwise it becomes white noise.”

Morgan slowly shook his head, a disbelieving smile chasing away the shocked confusion. “You’ve got some hidden depths, Pretty Boy.” He clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder hard enough to push him back into his pleather chair with a quiet ‘oof’.

“Come on guys, I know our jobs deal with the worst of humanity but ‘Toxic’? Our physical workplace isn’t that bad.” Emily said, strolling in from the break room she had disappeared into fifteen minutes ago, now holding a plate of Russian teacakes. She drew even with JJ.

And paused.

“— _I wanna gag, I wanna choke, I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat_ —”

“Definitely not Britney,” Emily idly commented, eyeing the three of them before zeroing in on the MP3 player lying innocently on Spencer’s desk. She smirked. “Why Spence, I didn’t know you were a Cardi fan!”

Spencer’s blush rapidly spread to his cheeks. “...Sometimes Megan too.” He tried clearing his throat, coughed, coughed some more, then downed the half-empty water bottle Morgan handed him, grimacing at the thought of potential virus transmission rates through saliva germs. It was flu season after all.

“Are those the cookies that were in a Tupperware with Rossi’s name on them?” JJ intervened. Spencer sent her a grateful look, to which she winked.

Emily scoffed. “They’ve been there two days, you snooze you lose.” She viciously took a bite out of one before offering the plate.

Spencer waved his disinterest; he always ended up with powdered sugar _everywhere_ no matter how carefully he ate them. Morgan took one with a laugh while JJ eyed the plate, looked to Emily, darted a glance towards Rossi’s office, and looked back to Emily, plucking one up. 

“Nobody tell Garcia,” JJ said after swallowing her bite. Morgan hummed in agreement.

“I like to live dangerously,” Emily popped a second one in her mouth.

“You’re all terrible,” Spencer shook his head in disappointment. Garcia’s baking was always something to be fought over; perhaps Rossi would finally learn a lesson in leaving his spoils around secretly sugar obsessed FBI agents since Russian tea cakes—“They’re called Italian Wedding Cookies,” Rossi had corrected when Garcia came around with her weekend baking haul Monday morning, “Trust me, I’m an expert twice over.”—were his favorites.

Speak of the devil.

“Since when is the BAU bullpen hosting a club night? No one invited me.” Rossi’s voice drifted down to the quartet from his office doorway, Morgan and JJ freezing with another cookie each in hand. Emily nonchalantly took a bite of her third. 

Rossi appeared on the walkway, eyebrow raised. “Some party.”

Spencer was struck yet again by the fact that his music was _still playing_ and why hadn’t he turned it off yet? He should do that. He should do that right now, especially before Hotch—

“There weren’t any celebrations on the calendar for today.”

—appeared from the depths of his office to investigate. He joined Rossi on the walkway in observing the team members still clustered in Spencer’s workspace.

Spencer grimaced. He fumbled to shut off the small device that was quickly grabbed by Morgan. “Oh no, we are having a discussion about this.”

“Derek!” Spencer did not whine. “We already did. So what if I like to listen to controversial pop music?”

“Controversial my ass,” Emily muttered under her breath, making JJ laugh and almost choke on her treat.

“Not with me you haven’t,” Rossi crossed his arms on top of the railing. “This I have to hear.”

“Dave,” Hotch chastised.

“Don’t Dave me Aaron, I’m sure you’re curious who introduced the kid to pop music too.”

“Why does it matter?”

“You mean to tell me you honestly believe Reid came about this on his own?”

“Why is it surprising Spencer listens to pop music?”

Everyone stared at him.

Hotch flitted a glance between all five of them, brows furrowed. “What?”

“Spencer?” Rossi questioned idly.

Hotch said nothing.

Rossi’s eyes narrowed.

Spencer shivered at the tension that ratcheted through the bullpen, making the air thick and irrationally harder to breathe. 

“Did you know?” Morgan asked to break the suddenly charged silence of their staring match. Spencer used the second of distraction to steal back his music player, hitting pause and shoving it into his pant’s pocket with a glare.

Hotch stared Rossi down for a few more seconds before dismissing him entirely by addressing Morgan. “That Reid listens to pop music? No. That he might? Doesn’t everyone listen to pop at some point?”

“On the radio maybe,” Emily speculated. “But in the workplace? I think not.”

“I’m right here, guys,” Spencer quipped, waving. “You could just ask me what music I like to listen to, you know.”

Hotch shot a small smile at him and Spencer tried not to melt into a smitten gooey puddle. No, pull it together. They were first of all, in the office, and second, if his skeleton decided to melt into a gelatinous blob every time Hotch so much as projected a hint of a smile his way, his productivity was going to plummet, which spelled disaster for everyone.

Oh, and the team would find out about his maybe-requited crush.

So really, he needed to develop a thicker skin for these kinds of interactions, as marvelous as they were.

JJ put a supporting hand on the back of his chair. “I think it’s fun you listen to pop music to help slog through files. Do you have a favorite artist?”

“They’re all garbage,” Rossi grumbled. Emily and Derek loudly shushed him while Hotch glared.

“Not asking your opinion Dave,” JJ smiled her saccharine sweet press wrangling smile at the older man, turning back to Spencer when Rossi rolled his eyes. “Spence?”

Spencer blinked owlishly at all of them. “It... honestly depends on my mood? Today I needed extra assistance in blocking outside stimuli in the form of heavy bass. The noise cancelling aspect of my headphones didn’t hurt either.”

“So you listen based on the needs of a situation?” Rossi asked disbelievingly.

“No, I think you’ve got that covered,” Spencer said, poker face out in full force.

Emily guffawed, leaning on JJ for support as her whole body shook with laughter, empty plate clasped to her side, nearly sending them both to the ground as JJ was trying unsuccessfully to turn a laugh into a cough behind her hand. Both women ended up sprawled across Spencer’s recently cleared desk.

“Oh god,” Morgan wheezed with one hand clutching his stomach, the other braced on Spencer’s chair, “Spence, please, you have to warn me man, I wasn’t prepared.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Morgan managed to pull himself upright with a wide grin. “Never change, Pretty Boy, never change.”

“Cheeky, the whole lot of you,” Rossi huffed exaggeratedly, somehow conveying the energy of a full body eye roll by slouching dramatically against the railing. Abruptly, he pointed a finger in Hotch’s direction. “That includes you, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, I know what your ‘silently-laughing-at-others-right-in-front-of-them’ face looks like. The _betrayal_.”

Hotch cracked a grin that split his Unit persona wide open, umber eyes warm with humor and creased by rarely seen smile lines, dimples flashing in the overhead light bright enough to daze—Spencer couldn’t bare to gaze longer than a second at Hotch’s glowing expression for fear of going blind from the intensity and yet like the sun it was impossible to resist, his eyes flickering across his features as they memorized the slight crinkle of his nose, the uneven slant of his smile, how the faintest hue of pink graced his cheeks when their eyes met across the bullpen to the background tune of their team’s mirth.

How all of that intensity seemed to magnify as his attention narrowed to only Spencer.

He was going to be the first documented case of spontaneous human combustion on record and die happily—or mostly happy, since kissing Hotch then immediately keeling over seemed disrespectful. Oh well.

He could live with Hotch’s smiling visage being his final view.

“Spence?”

Hotch’s countenance turned curious, eyebrows peaking in interest.

“Earth to Dr. Reid.”

Spencer blinked hard. Internally mourning the alluring intensity of Hotch’s regard, he blinked again to reorient himself. JJ and Emily were settled comfortably against each other on his desk now, heads titled in interest. “You were zoning pretty hard.” JJ’s tone was laced with concern.

“Oh, he was zoning alright—ow,” Emily grimaced at the sharp elbow to her side, “kidding, kidding.”

Right. _Still_ sitting in the middle of the office. How many reminders would it take to finally sink in?

“You all good?” Morgan asked with arms loosely crossed over his chest, spine straight.

“Ah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Spencer mumbled. “Just got lost in my head for a moment.”

Emily snorted but quickly held up her hands in surrender at JJ’s stormy glare.

“Sounds like it’s time to give that high powered brain of yours a break for the night,” Morgan continued, standing with a full body stretch and crossing the short distance to his desk. “I know I need one.”

“How can you sprint after an unsub on shifting terrain with the occasional car or person shaped obstacle thrown in and still not be as tired as you are after a day of paperwork? You would think physical exertion would tire the body out far faster than the mind.” Years later and Spencer still had no idea how Morgan’s mind seemed to operate in direct opposition to his own, allotted patience for paperwork growing shorter with each full day in the office. He’d even timed it. On average, Morgan seemed to lose thirty-two seconds of concentration per day between cases, with his tolerance resetting as each case closed.

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses.” Morgan said sagely, pulling on his leather jacket.

“Here here,” JJ chimed in.

“There’s certainly more than one way to tire the brain out with physical exertion,” Emily dared to say with an eyebrow wiggle, anticipating the oncoming elbow and jumping to her feet, simultaneously dodging the high heel that aimed to trip her. “And on that note, I am out of here.” She grabbed her purse from her desk, hooked her arm with a protesting JJ’s, and strutted towards the exit. “See you all tomorrow!”

Silence descended in the wake of their whirlwind exit.

“She moves fast when she wants to, heels or not.” Rossi said, momentarily disappearing into his office to turn off the lights, grab his keys, and lock up, before returning to his post next to Hotch.

“Is that envy I hear?”

“Hush, Aaron, don’t think I’ve forgotten your betrayal... or that your birthday is coming up.”

Hotch winced slightly.

“That’s what I thought. You kids have fun!” Rossi ambled down the walkway, waving a hand over his shoulder as he too headed for the glass doors.

“You’re not helping your case, Dave!” Hotch called, making his way around the balustrade and down the stairs to join the two remaining agents.

Rossi ignored him and continued on his way.

Morgan shook his head in good humor. “You need a ride, Spence?”

Spencer startled. “Oh, uh, I’m good, don’t worry about it. I enjoy the long metro rides.” In the very early mornings, mostly, when he could leave before the main commuter crowd and arrive second to the office behind Hotch, or late at night when the cars were near deserted—also second to Hotch, who left no earlier than seven most nights.

Morgan didn’t ask him if he was sure, which he appreciated, but he did hesitate, reluctant to leave his friend to the misery of the evening crush, where everyone packed into subway cars like sardines in a desperate bid to get home.

Morgan also knew how much he hated being in close, unwanted contact with so many people—it always sent his anxiety skyrocketing with the urge to vibrate out of his skin when he couldn’t catch a front or end car, since those tended to be less crowded. Crammed into a corner trying his best to disappear into his head since it was impossible to pull out a book or magically vanish his physical body, flinching every time someone brushed up against his shoulder or stared at him in that vacantly self-aware way commuters had since there was nowhere else _to_ look, silently regretting every choice up to that point, was never a fun experience. Those days were always more challenging. 

And, now that he thought about it, tended to include Hotch bringing him coffee or offering a ride home.

“I need to speak with Reid anyway,” Hotch smoothly cut in. “if it gets too late I can give him a ride.”

Spencer glanced at him sharply. How had he only caught onto this pattern today?

Morgan also sent him an assessing glance, looked back to Spencer who nodded, then shrugged. “Alright then. See you gentlemen tomorrow.”

“Maybe earlier than you want to.” Spencer said.

“Don’t jinx it Pretty Boy, that’s cheating, and will disqualify you from coffee.”

“That’s an illogical rule.”

“It’s _my_ rule and since it’s _my_ bet, it goes, logically or not. Now, goodnight!” He sauntered across the floor and through the exit, casting a single lingering look over his shoulder before disappearing in the direction of the elevator banks.

And then it was the two of them.

Spencer gathered his courage. “What did you need to talk to me about?” After working hours, alone, with possibly the entire floor deserted.

He tracked the minute twitch of Hotch’s eyebrows; how his left hand unconsciously picked at his quik-short nails, the tense set of his shoulders, and felt his own nervousness rapidly rise. “Hotch, what is it? Did something happen to Jack?”

That seemed to snap him out of it. Hotch blinked and looked at him instead of slightly past him, taking in a deep breath. “Oh, no, Jack is fine,” he reassured, a warmth in eyes that softened their hue from sturdy oak to molten copper, “this has nothing to do with him. Well, technically it does, but for the moment, no.”

“That’s not reassuring in the least.”

“I’m messing this up.” Hotch laughed self-deprecatingly, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Messing up what, exactly?”

“Attempting to ask you out.”

Spencer opened his mouth, realized he had absolutely no idea what to say, and closed it. After a moment, he tried again. “What.”

Well. It lacked eloquence, but as far as inquiries went, it got his confusion across no matter how flat the delivery.

Hotch gave a slightly helpless bend of a smile, dragged over a free rolling chair, and sat down facing Spencer, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning into his space just shy of their knees touching. Lingering on the edge of Spencer’s personal bubble but not intruding. 

Hotch cleared his throat. “Let me start over: Spencer, there is something I would like to ask you.”

Spencer licked his suddenly desert dry lips. “Go ahead.”

Hotch nodded seriously. “In light of today, I would like to inform you that I cook and I clean but, it’s far too early for a ring,” Spencer couldn’t breathe, _this was not happening_ , “So, how about dinner instead?”

Spencer gaped. “Did you ask me out by quoting Cardi B song lyrics?”

“Yes?”

“Good, great, uh, thank you for confirming.”

They stared at each other, locked in place with barely a foot between them, silence stretching like a particularly resilient rubber band on the precipice of snapping.

“Why do you know the lyrics to ‘WAP’?” Spencer finally blurted.

“Garcia.” Hotch answered without missing a beat.

“That... makes sense.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to listen to pop music on my own?”

“Well no, but—” Spencer gestured aimlessly. “It seems very... outside... your purview.”

“As opposed to—?”

“You favor classic rock stations on long car rides out in the field.”

“When I am in the mood, yes. Sometimes I put on NPR. Sometimes I prefer silence.”

Spencer mulled over the reply consideringly, nodding. 

Hotch didn’t let his smile falter as his courage seemed to, a pit yawning open in his stomach as the seconds ticked by: thirty, sixty, one hundred and twenty, and still Spencer continued to stare silently, wide-eyed. “Spencer?”

“Yes?” he answered automatically.

“Dinner?” Hotch asked once more.

It was the smile slipping off Aaron’s face and the dimming of his eyes that finally jolted Spencer from his shock.

“Oh, right, yes!”

“...Yes, you’ll let me buy you dinner?”

Spencer thought for a moment. “Only if you let me pay for half.”

“Of course.” Hotch lied glibly.

Spencer smiled, shy but genuine, a hurricane of giddy butterflies swarming within his chest. “Then yes, I would love to go out on a date with you, Hotch.”

Hotch’s grin regained its full radiance, even brighter than before. “Good.” He inched forward, gently knocking their knees together. “Good.” He repeated in a murmur.

Spencer reached out and tangled their fingers together where their knees met.

“You can call me Aaron.”

Instinctively ducking his head, Spencer forced himself to meet Aaron’s soft gaze.

“Yes, I will go on a date with you... H—Aaron.” Spencer frowned at the slip. “That might take some time getting used to.”

Aaron smiled beatifically. “Take all the time you need.”

Spencer grinned. “I plan to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AUubIdz-oE) is the song version if anyone is curious.
> 
> Apologies to anyone who only came for indie fan Spencer.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](https://physics-magic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
